FF12: Random Bits 00
by Nashiil
Summary: Final Chapter uploaded. Vaan and Penelo have planned a little get together with their friends. But they are finding that reunions don't always go as planned...
1. Chapter 1

Hello everyone! It's been quite a while since I posted anything and this will be my first ever FF12 related fanfic. Everyone needs to thank Ivalician Bladesmith for bringing Random Bits to FF12. This is a sort of Pilot Bit, since I have never written anything for the FF12 universe, so there are sure to be bugs to be worked out. I'm trying to appy personalities to characters who didn't really have much to begin with. Well, I shouldn't say it that way. It's hard to see characters full personality when the situations they are in are mostly the doom and gloom of a world at war. I will work on personalities as I go, so don't worry if your favorite character seems a little off. And again Thank You Mr. 'Smith!

Happy reading!

Oh, yeah, please send me your thoughts and notes on what I got wrong.

**FF12: Random Bits 00**

**Chapter 1**

**:Setting** - Vaan, Penelo, Fran, and Balthier, struck with a bad case of loneliness, have decided to have a reunion (not the kind where anyone is infected with cells and the whole city is attacked by Remnants, just a plain old reunion of friends). They have invited their companions and are seeing to the preparations.**:**

**:Location **- Rabanastre -The Sandsea - Mid morning -Our heroes are busy decorating The Sandsea and seeing to the dinner preparations. Ashe, Basch, and Larsa have not yet arrived. Everyone is working very hard…Well, almost everyone.**:**

Vaan stood unsteadily on the top rung of the rickety ladder that a bangaa was holding for him. He stretched, but was unable to reach the top of the loft's iron railing. From where he was lounging at a table with his feet up, Balthier could see the boy thinking. The fastidious young pirate knew what was going to happen, so he settled down to watch. Vaan was so predictable. It would do no good to tell him that he could have just tied them on _from_ the loft.

The orphaned teen held the bundle of sparkly streamers in his mouth and, against all common sense, stood with one foot on one end of each stringer (that's the vertical part of the ladder, if you didn't know). It was about that time that physics took over and a combination of pressure, directional forces, gravity, and very old wood caused the ladder to fall apart. His bangaa helper fled as ladder debris rained down, leaving Vaan balancing on what looked like Ivalice's crummiest stilts.

Blathier, who had lifted nothing heavier than a wine glass since arriving (because the _leading man _never does any kind of manual labor), raised his glass in salute. He had seen a lot of stupidity in his day, but this was by far, some of the stupidest. He watched in utter amazement as his young apprentice managed, for a few seconds, to stay balanced. Then amidst cries and grunts of alarm, his legs began to wobble as his subconscious handed him the reigns of Self-Preservation.

The brain is a wonderful organ that can process thousands of signals on a subconscious level, and react to them before you can blink. Most of the time humans aren't even aware that it's happening. It does things like process sounds, changes in pressure, sights, smells, and disturbances in the magnetic field, then reacts by sending nerve impulses that raise your arm in time to deflect a bird that has flown off course from colliding with your head. Then you say something like 'Wow! That was lucky!' and turn right into the rest of the flock, because now that you are aware of the danger, the subconscious turns things over to you.

Now that Vaan was in total control of his body again, he did what most people do, he panicked. His arms whirled around as if they were trying to make a jump for safety on their own, while his legs fought to keep from going horizontal. There was a bad and very painful moment when they did, and it was a sight that would haunt Balthier and certain parts of Vaan for years to come. The boy somehow managed to avoid ending up with his knees beside his ears and brought his legs together with a 'clack!'.

Vaan had avoided The Great Divide, but in doing so had over balanced. The hume body was not the most balanced form in nature. In fact, the very act of walking was nothing more than an indefinitely postponed fall. As it was, the apprentice sky pirate could have fallen against the wall and grabbed the railing, which was now in reach. The trouble is, gods like a good laugh as much as the next omnipresent deity, so with streamers trailing from his mouth like a doomed comet, Vaan fell into Balthier instead.

Balthier rose from the tangled wreckage of wood and body parts with a groan. He gingerly touched the bump on his head and shoved one of Vaan's legs (it had to have been one of Vaan's, because if one of his own legs had been lying across his chest, he would be having problems very soon) off of him. It was a rather large lump of the variety that you didn't even need to touch to know that it was there. It was hard to miss in the way it's hard to miss the fact that someone has laid carpeting down over the cat. In Balthier's case it looked like a cactoid was in mid-sprout to one side of his forehead.

"Are you alright?" Fran asked quietly, pulling her partner to his feet, and wondering when he was going to notice the big maroon wine stains marring his vest and shirt.

"Yes, it's only a bruise." the dashing pirate replied, reassuringly as he prodded his affliction to make sure that 1) yes, it hurt, and 2) yes, it was huge.

"It's rather unsightly, but I've had…" Balthier trailed off. He had noticed the stains.

Balthier prided himself on his ability to appear immaculate, dashing, and posh whether he was robbing a tomb, fighting undead masses, sipping brandy, or all three at the same time. He had high personal standards to uphold and they included always, ALWAYS looking his best. The young man might have strategically withdrawn (a.k.a., run away), or come back empty handed, but he did it with style and a clean shirt. As far as Balthier was concerned, stains were something that happened to other people.

Fran waited patiently while her friend fussed over his clothes. The viera appeared to be quite concerned about the lump on her companion's head, and she had good reason. Head wounds could be serious things in her experience. They brought on any number of strange symptoms and side effects. Fran had once spent a week listening to Balthier babble about the pixies living in his eyebrows, and trying to convince him that his underpants were not to be worn as a cap. Once had been quite enough for her, not that Balthier remembered any of it.

After making sure that Vaan was okay, Penelo brought the smooth-talking pirate a damp towel. She was glad that Vaan was unhurt, aside from some mild groinal strain. He was pretty resilient and had already busied himself with helping several bangaas clean up the wreckage. If Balthier hadn't broken his fall, who knows what might have happened to him. Penelo turned to Balthier, who was arguing with Fran.

"The stains will never come out, you know." he sighed dejectedly.

"Don't worry," Penelo offered "If you give me your shirt and vest, I can get them washed for you before the stains set in."

"No,no! You don't have to. I couldn't possibly-!" Balthier began.

"Just give them to her!" Fran said sternly, in a tone that kicked argument out the door.

"Fran, Please! A Leading Man never disrobes in front-!"

"Now."

"Fine." Balthier grumbled, shrugging out of the stained clothing and handing them over. He took the proffered towel and began wiping himself off.

"That's for your head." Fran informed him.

"I'm just trying to get the wine off. I don't want to go around smelling like a drunk." Balthier retorted disdainfully. The viera waited. She knew what was coming next and mentally mouthed along as the sky pirate said "I don't suppose there's any place I can take a bath around here, is there?"

"Upstairs, in the owner's quarters." Penelo replied cheerfully as she took the clothes away. "Tomaj won't mind."

"That will do." Balthier replied, pleased. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, Fran interjected. "Yes, your spare clothes are right here." The viera pulled out a bundle and handed it to the vain pirate. It was nice having a magical space to store things in. It meant your weapons, and in Balthier's case, extra clothes, were always on hand. Fran just wished Balthier would carry his own things.

"Isn't she wonderful?" Balthier said charmingly to the room at large as he headed upstairs.

Vaan watched Balthier swagger away and, not for the first time, wondered about the relationship between the pirate and the viera. He still didn't know how they had met, or gone into pirating together, but there seemed to be a great deal of trust and respect between the two. They always seemed to know what the other was thinking or needed, and could spring into action with just a look or nod. At first, Vaan had been convinced that there was something deeper than mere partnership or friendship between Balthier and Fran. A bunny girl in a skimpy outfit and a dashing young sky pirate that were just friends was hard for him to believe. Rava viera like Fran had begun mingling with veena Viera and even humes, so it wasn't that wild of a conclusion.

Vaan was confused at first, after noticing that Balthier never insulted Fran with flattery, or by using her to keep his charm skills sharp. His compliments always seemed sincere and he never argued with her. Well, he never argued with her for very long. In the end, Vaan had put it down to the fact that the viera could kick like a battle stallion and wore double pronged stiletto heels that could deal serious, and probably permanent, damage to male anatomy. Come to think of it, that probably explained why you didn't see any male viera in the village…

Vaan looked up from his musings to see Penelo and Fran deep in serious conversation. The boy suddenly stiffened, noticing the hunched forms and tense whispering. It was no normal conversation he was witnessing. This was a conspiratory huddle. Usually, when friends went into this type of huddle, it meant that someone was going to get some humorously cruel, and well-deserved attention. Mischief was afoot. Vaan hurried over.

Fran gave Penelo a covert nod as Balthier came downstairs adjusting his cuffs and whistling. He struck a pose at the foot of the stairs and said " I clean up rather well, don't you think?"

"Yes, aside from the lump." Fran replied. Balthier frowned at the unnecessary reminder. He'd had plenty of time to notice how huge the goose egg was when he'd checked his eyebrows in the bathroom mirror. "Come sit." Fran said, helpfully steering the man to a nearby chair. "We have something that will help your injury."

"Will it remove the horrid thing marring my good looks?" Balthier inquired, just incase someone, in the last five minutes, had invented a way to remove boulder-sized bruises.

"No, but it will bring down the swelling." Penelo said, opening a jar of ointment and handing it to the viera. "Sit." Fran repeated, pushing the pirate into the chair. Balthier was a little suspicious. His past experiences with in-field wound care had consisted of finding a way to cover, wrap, or plug a wound while standing or, ideally, running for your life. Later, once the hubbub had died down, you did it up yourself unless you couldn't reach it (or were short handed on account of you didn't grab your hat fast enough when the wall came down). Suddenly having Fran ask him to sit down for her made Balthier uneasy. But, then again, how often _did_ a bunny girl ask you to sit for her while she put her hands on you? Balthier relaxed a little as his Ego nudged Caution aside and leaned back expectantly. "Having my wounds tended by lovely ladies, eh? I should get hurt more often." he teased.

From his perch by the bar, Vaan made a disgusted noise as Fran shook her head wearily and said "Just close your eyes."

**:Location **- Rabanastre -The Royal Palace - Close to noon -Ashe has ditched her guards, the Palace, and her advisors and is on her way to meet Basch and Larsa at the Aerodrome.**:**

Ashe, dressed in plain clothes (the normal disguise for royalty) to avoid attention, strolled purposefully into the Aerodrome. Her advisors had been against her going into public alone, and had been vehemently against her associating with sky pirates, where she might be robbed, kidnapped, or undressed by the eyes of unscrupulous people (like sky pirates). But Ashe would hear none of it. She was a princess about to be Queen, and she could jolly well do what she pleased, and the dusty old geezers on her advising Council would just have to jolly well like it!

The guards a the palace gates had given her a little trouble…

"I'm sorry, Princess, but we can't allow you to go out unescorted." One of the guards had said, stepping forward to bar her path. "You would refuse the wish of King Raminas' royal heir?" Ashe had asked with royal incredulity (which is more dangerous that regular incredulity seeing as it is often accompanied by a stony silence which is followed by the phrase 'Off with his head!' , or 'Take him to the dungeons!').

The harried guard rallied and replied "Oh no, Princess! It is not our place to tell you what to do. But what would we tell the Council if they found out that we saw you leave with out proper protection? Some churl might try to undress you with his eyes!" Ashe could think of one person who fit that description and probably had done it many times already, and he was currently at the Sandsea, helping Vaan and Penelo. She handled the problem by saying "Then, as your future Queen, I command you not to see me leaving."

The guard shifted uneasily, weighing his options. On the one hand, it was his duty to protect the future Queen and the Royal Council, who supplied his wages, would not be happy to find that he had allowed the princess to go traipsing about without bodyguards or even worse, their permission. On the other hand, he had just been given a direct order by said princess and disobeying could not only ruin his chances for promotion, but bring his career to a very terminal end. The guard squirmed wretchedly under Ashe's gaze, then turned slowly to his companion, and said carefully "Did you just hear something?"

The other guard, who was a little brighter than his friend, and determined to have a long military career involving promotions and living to see those promotions, replied "No, sir. And I didn't SEE nuthin' neither, sir."

"That's the spirit gentlemen!" Ashe said brightly, slipping through the gates. Manic with relief, the second guard nudged his companion and leered. "There it was again, sir, but I can't see where it's coming from." The first guard sniffed in a bored manner and said "Must have been a bird. The little devils are everywhere."

More to come soon!


	2. Chapter 2

Yay! Chapter 2. I think it is still a little slow, but hopefully better than ch 1. I think the personalities are still lacking, but I am working on them. Balthier and Fran seem to be the easiest for me to write. (sigh) I really need to work on everyone else. Ch3 is definitely turning out better. I should have it up soon too.

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****FF12: Random Bits 00**

**Chapter 2**

**:Setting** - Vaan, Penelo, Fran, and Balthier, struck with a bad case of loneliness, have decided to have a reunion (not the kind where anyone is infected with cells and the whole city is attacked by Remnants, just a plain old reunion of friends). They have invited their companions and are seeing to the preparations.**:**

**:Location **- Rabanastre - Aerodrome - Lady Ashe has successfully navigated the crowded city. She is now waiting for Larsa and Basch to arrive.**:**

Ashe made it to the Aerodrome, only having to order three more guards not to see her. She joined the crowd of travelers impatiently waiting, barely tolerating the usual annoyances that went along with traveling and transportation centers. Travel centers are all the same. There's always someone listening to loud music, mannerless people who put their feet up on your armrest, children running loose, and a crowd of anxious people gathered around the luggage carousel. Ivalice was no different.

There was a long line of disgruntled travelers groaning about delayed and cancelled flights, and a small army of people yelling and waving handmade signs to greet or see off family and friends. The noise of traveling was added to by the protests of upset travelers and those putting up a fuss about smuggled items/food/small animals. Never having to deal with the stresses of travel center workings, Ashe was slightly appalled to realize that people regularly lost their luggage and spent the night in the Aerodrome. Worst of all were the newfangled food vending devices.

Ah the vending machine! A boon to any hungry traveler finding themselves stuck in a travel center overnight. They are filled with tasty snacks and drinks…and are rigged to squeeze every last cent out of unfortunate travelers. They are ingeniously designed to trap the snack against the shelf and the plexiglass. No amount of rocking or shaking will dislodge the snack, oh no. The only option is to keep inserting change until enough food packages shift and loosen the first package and allow _one_ to fall. Yes, just _one_.

Ashe was jostled and bumped by the tide of bodies as she pushed her way through the throngs and found shelter behind a pillar. She had been shoved, had her toes trod on, and been Cursed at. The princess was not used to this kind of treatment. She was used to people clearing a path at the very mention of her name, murmuring humble thanks if she bumped into them, and quailing in a satisfactory manner if she shouted at them. Ashe reminded herself, as a small child used her shirt as a Handkerchief, that it was okay, she was supposed to be a commoner and in disguise, although she made a mental note to have the child flogged when she got back to the palace (you were never too young to learn manners).

The jostling crowd spat the princess out near the waiting area. Every bench was at maximum capacity, and in some cases, patrons were double stacked. Several moments of uncertain lingering passed before Ashe realized that no one was going to say "Oh, Princess, please honor me by taking my seat!" on account that no one recognized her. All she got for her trouble was territorial stares, apologetic smiles, and one snap of "Clear off, I was here first!"

Ashe joined the ranks of visitors circling the benches. She had never really noticed how much people imitated animals until today. Here her fellow Rabanastrans circled the seats like scavengers waiting for the predators to leave the kill, their faces taut with expectation and impatience. There! Someone shifted, a signal that they may be leaving, and the pack of seat-hunters moved in.

She soon learned that you had to push and fight dirty if you wanted a seat. No mercy was shown for the weak, elderly, or very young. It was every Rabanastran for themselves as they shoved, elbowed and climbed each other to get the vacant seat. After being pushed to the borders of the pack twice Ashe was ready for the next one. A woman shifted and before she even had time to vacate the seat properly, the mob was on her. She was carried away and dumped, unceremoniously on the stone floor a few feet away amidst the cries of the pack, which included, 'It's mine! I've been here four hours!', 'Push off, or you'll feel the back of my hand!', and 'That's my…uh, sister and she was saving that seat for me!'.

Ashe managed to trip several people and claw her way to the front of the pack where panting raggedly, she faced down a middle-aged man with and intimidating stomach. Ashe and the man both flung themselves at the empty seat and tried to force the other out of the way with their hips. For a moment it looked like the man would win, but as a single young woman, Ashe knew a few powerful words that won her the seat in the end. She took a deep breath and shouted, "Pervert! This man is pervert!"

Heads turned and the man quickly relinquished the seat. He melted back into the mob as it went in search of another target. Victorious, she breathed a sigh of relief, but the respite didn't last long. She groaned internally as a seeq, fresh from a long morning walk in the daytime heat, made himself comfortable beside her (making room by tossing a man out of his seat) and began to slowly engulf the bench. The princess managed not to gag, which would have been very impolite, as the scent of frying bacon and sweaty gym socks enveloped her. Ashe stayed seated and tried to breathe through her mouth, which only meant that she was able to _taste_ the smell. She couldn't stop herself from gagging, so she feigned a cough and excused herself by saying "Your pardon, I've been ill."

Ashe, trained rigorously in proper and polite princess behavior and diplomacy, had to dredge up every last ounce of will power to stay calmly seated and even smile obligingly as the seeq grunted an apology for a sudden gut gurgling eructation that sent ripples to outlying areas of its backside. The smell alone seared her nostrils and made her lightheaded. She desperately searched her brain for an excuse to move that wouldn't make it seem like she was moving because she had just been repulsed by a natural bodily function. Luckily a knight in shining armor appeared to rescue her. Two in fact, who just happened to be Basch and Larsa. Ashe bolted towards them and the fresh air surrounding them.

The young Archadian royal and his guardian were momentarily taken aback by the desperate looking young woman running towards them. Larsa wasn't used to young women running towards him period (and probably wouldn't even entertain the idea in his royal little head for a few more years) and the only experience Basch had had with people running towards him were those wielding weapons or righteous royal outrage and shouting "Get the traitor!" Not wanting to draw steel in a public place and create panic, Basch settled for moving protectively in front of the young prince. He was taken completely by surprise when the girl ran up, grasped his armor and nearly shouted, "I'm so glad to see you!" Larsa and Basch blinked at her in mild confusion, taking in the pirate like scarf covering her hair, and the riding pants and linen shirt Rassler used to wear on his hunting expeditions.

"Lady Ashe!" Larsa began warmly, while Basch gasped in surprise, "Princess!" Ashe rammed one hand over each mouth and hissed, "Shhhh! I'm in disguise! Let's get out of here quickly." she nearly begged, jerking her head towards a group of panic-stricken patrons fleeing the area around the seeq she had just been sitting by.

"You couldn't stand out more if you were wearing my helm." Basch chuckled in amusement as Ashe and her friends strolled leisurely through the streets towards the Sandsea. "Could you not have chosen a disguise less conspicuous? It even bears the royal crest." Ashe glanced quickly down at the blazon on the right breast of the shirt and groaned. It was as good as a flashing light, or a lighted billboard sign saying 'Look at me!!!'

Ashe looked back up at her friends with a sheepish grin.

"I think it suits her rather well." Larsa complimented. Basch cleared his throat and gave Ashe an expectant look, "Aren't you forgetting something, princess?" This earned him a blank look.

"It's been a while since we have last spoken." the Judge Magister prompted.

Ashe suddenly brightened, mischief bubbling in her eyes. Larsa looked on, mystified as his royal companion suddenly slapped the former Captain lightly across the face.

"You traitor!" she spat, but with out venom, "How could you! There. Is that better?"

Basch chuckled, "Ah! Now it feels just like old times. Forgive me Lord Larsa," he said in reply to the lordling's puzzled expression, "It is traditional for the Lady Ashe to slap me each time we meet." Larsa just smiled. Adults were so juvenile sometimes.

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The royal party was intercepted by Vaan and Penelo at the doors to the Sandsea and told in mysterious and hushed tones. "What ever you do, _don't_ laugh at Balthier. We're playing a little joke on him, so don't laugh at _it_, look at _it_, or make any comments on _it_." Vaan stressed. Ashe was afraid to ask what _it_ was.

Inside the gloom of the tavern (which is the standard in Inn, bar, tavern, and shady pub lighting), Basch and the royalty were met with inexpertly hung decorations and all the details that let guests know that the whole event was set up by amateurs who had a boat load of good intentions, but no skill whatsoever. Then there was Balthier and Fran, the Han Solo and Chewbacca of Ivalice, only Fran wasn't excessively hairy, wore 5-inch heels, and her speech was perfectly understandable. Balthier on the other hand had almost nothing in common with Han Solo except for the sarcasm and silver tongue. Other than that the dashing young pirate had a penchant for expensive looking clothes, luxury, and wore more rings than an Italian mobster. The flamboyant pirate was also sporting a good sized knot on his head, which immediately drew the newcomers' attention. A single thought blew through their minds as they moved to greet their old friends…._What ever you do, _don't_ laugh_….

"Ah Princess! How nice it is to be graced by your lovely presence!" Balthier declared with a courtly bow. The display of charm did not earn the expected reaction. Instead of the usual blush and smile, Ashe just stared at him (with a look usually reserved for nights spent in the bathroom after too much cheese and protein) before grunting an affirmative and quickly departing to talk to Fran. Larsa greeted him normally, declaring that they were all good friends and as friends should be addressed with out titles and formalities. Then of course he skipped off to talk to Penelo.

The pirate found Basch's reaction quite puzzling. The man greeted him with a hearty handshake and a solid slap on the back, then curiously raised a hand in greeting to the area above his right eyebrow before heading off with Fran and the others to the loft. Suspicion eeled its way out of the dark corner of his mind where he hid his fears, paranoid musings, evil thoughts, and memories he'd like to forget.

Everyone has a little corner like this, where they shut away embarrassing memories and wicked thoughts. Most of the space is taken up by humiliating childhood memories and social blunders, but a small portion is set aside for all those evil and paranoid thoughts. They sit in their heavy iron box with the combination lock and whisper things like, 'You know Jenny Shenny is the one stealing the post-it notes from my desk drawer', 'Those darn Rozarians are the reason the economy is going down hill', 'It's all the monarchy's fault. They're covering it up.', and 'If Reggie Kooms touches my desk with those greasy hands of his one more time, I'm going to….'

One of memories that slithered out of the darkness just so happened to be the time he came back to the Strahl staggering drunk after a night out with a few ladies. He vaguely recalled stumbling into Fran when he tripped over his own feet, and the viera plunging his head into a bucket of water several times, old school Baptism style. When that hadn't worked, she'd given him a ringing slap to the head, thrown him on the floor, and stomped a heel down dangerously close to a very tender area. Then, in a voice like an avenging angel, she had demanded that he stopped being drunk…_immediately_. Funny thing was it had worked better and faster than any Remedy thus far. There's nothing like the pointed threat of a spiky stomping in the goolies to sober a man up. From that point on, Balthier had never downed enough booze to come anywhere near inebriation.

Balthier shuddered and mentally prodded the horrible memory back into its corner with a toe. The slimy worm of Suspicion wriggled its way through his mind, leaving little steaming droppings of Doubt. His friends were hiding Something, he knew it. He had that misgiving that they were laughing at him. _Don't be absurd! _He reassured himself. _They are probably just really delighted to see you again, and are at a momentary loss for how to express themselves. _

It sounded perfectly plausible. Women were often rendered speechless by his wit and charm, and men were often left feeling intimidated by his loads of style. Some people had it, some didn't. Balthier knew he had most of it.

He eyed them all warily as he took a seat at the table. He raked his gaze around the table, which spawned a mild coughing epidemic. The flamboyant pirate focused on Larsa, who returned his gaze steadily for a few moments, then made conversation with Penelo. The companions spent the next few hours reminiscing about old times, but always there was an air of suppressed…something, when ever they looked at Balthier. He was also disturbed by the way, every so often, someone had an urgent need to go help in the kitchens. Balthier had a bad feeling.

"Alright. What's going on." Balthier demanded sternly, "I know you are all up to something. Out with it." He was met with awkward silence and a lot of uncomfortable shifting.

"Come on, don't mess me about." the pirate prodded. "Is it my injury? You find it amusing? This inquiry spawned several coughs that sounded suspiciously like snickers. "Well, I'm glad you find my misfortune so entertaining."

The man was sullenly quiet for a few moments, then hesitantly asked, in voice full of conceited worry, "Is it really bad as all that?" No one seemed willing to answer, so Fran kindly stepped in and said, "It's not that bad. It looks quite…friendly. It doesn't attract a lot of attention."

Balthier's eyes narrowed, "Friendly? Really? And just what could you possible mean by that I wonder?" Without any hesitation, his partner in crime replied, "It definitely will not frighten small children or young women." If the man had been a bird, his feathers would have slowly settled back into place as his fears were laid to rest. He didn't even wonder about Vaan, who had a sudden coughing fit and had to be led away to the kitchens by Ashe and Penelo. Over the din of clashing pots and pans, only Fran was able to hear the guffaws of laughter.

Basch felt rather proud of his young charge as everyone took a turn going down to the kitchens for a good hard laugh. He was managing to talk to Balthier with a straight face and completely ignore the large purpling knot with the goofy, smiling face scrawled on it. Basch didn't know how Larsa could look at it without a giggle. It probably had to do with good breeding.

Good Breeding was the standard explanation for all kinds of royal behaviors. For centuries farmers were breeding their animals for size, improved health, milk and meat production, temperament, and in some cases coat color (which explains Belted Galloways). It wasn't just limited to livestock either. Their dogs were bred for loyalty, endurance, and hunting ability, and their crops for higher yield, pest resistance, heartiness, and drought tolerance (which is always a good idea if your village tends to insult the gods a lot).

So, while farmers were genetically modifying their livestock and crops for genetic superiority, the noble born were busy breeding for more important things. What could be more important than health, endurance, and good bone structure? Good manners for one, charm, the ability to endure long ceremonies, banquets, and events while smiling and being gracious to people you can't stand, and of course, how to dismiss a person with the languid wave of the hand and bestow the maximum amount of insult to their honor. Over centuries of inbreeding, Good Breeding gave rise to several amazing traits, excluding good health and common sense when it came to things like riding in the front of a charge and hiring dodgy advisors. Yes, Good Breeding in the modern royal could be credited with the ability to eat a grey paste made out of the back end of a rat on a small piece of toast, while raving that it's the most marvelous thing you've ever tasted and the ability to say that 'Princess Spintzi Stickinbottom is absolutely the most lovely creature you have ever set eyes on' without gagging. Yep, that's all Good Breeding.

A while later Vaan and Penelo volunteered to go down to the kitchens and bring out the food. Actually Vaan had been 'involunteered' (lit. volunteered against your will) by Baltheir. It happens to everyone sooner or later. One day you come home and your parents say "Guess what? Old Gurdy Plurddy across the street needs someone to clean out her fifteen cat boxes while she's away so, we told her that you would be more than willing to do it. She's leaving today and will be back in two weeks." Yeah, you just got 'involunteered'.

Vaan staggered under the weight of the platters and ran through the events that led him here….

…Penelo rose with a polite 'excuse me' and announced that she was going to bring out their meal. Balthier also rose from his seat, and with a courtly bow said, "As a gentleman it won't do to let such a lovely lady do all the work herself, so let me offer my assistance." He turned to Vaan, who was slouching comfortably in his seat and telling Basch about his recent pirate adventures, complete with sound effects and gestures.

"Vaan, stop sitting on you spine and assist this lovely young lady here. A true gentleman never lets a lady carry anything heavy".

Vaan snorted in derision and drawled impudently, "Well, since you're up and the _leading man_, why don't you do it?"

"Why on earth would I do that?" Balthier retorted with a chuckle, "As the leading man, it's my job to entertain our guests. As my apprentice, it's your job to do everything else. It teaches you courtesy and good manners, both of which you lack by the way, along with tact and gratitude."

As the posh pirate continued his long winded lecture, Vaan stared transfixed by the smiling lump on his head. Every time the man moved his head it wobbled slightly, as if nodding in agreement.

"What?" the sky pirate demanded, when he realized that the boy wasn't listening to his words of wisdom. His frown deepened when he followed the trajectory of the boy's gaze.

"Fine, fine. I have a bump on my head, so what? Let's all have a jolly good laugh and stop looking at me like I've-" Balthier began hotly, only to be interrupted by Basch, who interjected, "Grown a second head?" the knight supplied innocently. He didn't even flinch when Ashe kicked him under the table.

"Exactly!" Balthier replied, glad _someone_ knew how he felt. There was a sudden outbreak of snickers and giggles.

"Come on, now," the pirate snapped, with a disgusted toss of his head, "What could you possibly find so amusing about a little bump?" Sudden dread descended on the young man like four horsemen bringing an apocalypse as he looked around the table. Vaan had is back to him and was nearly bent double with the effort of restraining laughter. Penelo had both hands rammed over her mouth, while Ashe had her head in her hands with both shoulders shaking. Larsa was trying to hide a pumpkin grin behind one high born fist and Basch had suddenly found the intricate workmanship of the carved patterns in the rafters very interesting. Fran was simply watching him with an amused smile.

One thought dominated Balthier's mind as he cast desperately around the loft. _Mirror! Mirror! Must find a mirror! _There was an almost imperceptible shift among his companions. Everyone was positioning themselves to make sure the table was between them and Balthier as the man strode up to a polished bronze shield. Around that time Vaan decided that it may just be good idea to help Penelo after all and the two made their escape.

Balthier braced himself for something horrible as he approached the shield. As his head became visible in the reflective surface, it revealed something much worse than any carnival horror house could achieve. He found himself staring at his own visage, which looked rather good, or would have if there hadn't been what looked like a huge othros trying to spawn from his forehead. It had a silly, smiling face on it. Fran's reflection appeared behind him and she said in a cheerful tone,

"See, it's not bad at all. It seems very happy to see you."

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Bacon anyone?


	3. Chapter 3

I hope everyone had a happy Thanksgiving! If you aren't stuffed to the gullet yet, here's a little after dinner treat. If you can stomch it. Enjoy!

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**FF12: Random Bits 00**

**Chapter 3**

**:Setting** - Vaan, Penelo, Fran, and Balthier, struck with a bad case of loneliness, have decided to have a reunion (not the kind where anyone is infected with cells and the whole city is attacked by Remnants, just a plain old reunion of friends). They have invited their companions and are seeing to the preparations.**:**

**:Location **- Rabanastre - the Sandsea - After fuming and sputtering ineffectually for a few minutes, Balthier has calmed down.

There is nothing like food to soothe an ego or frayed temper. It has to be a special kind of food though, and no one did comfort food like Rabanastrans. Typical Rabanastran feel good food tended towards large amounts of good red meat, namely any animal large enough to have a fruit shoved in its mouth and roasted. This was the standard for many years so, many chefs would not consider cooking an animal if an apple couldn't be shoved in its mouth.

The famous royal chef Rowstit Hoal had significantly broadened the banquet selection by including fish and fowl on his royal menu. He used small berries for the fish and since poultry weren't cooked with their heads on, he solved the problem by stuffing onions up their bums. He was also credited as being the first man to ever cook a Chocobo. Since onions were too small, he used a pineapple.

Yes, meat was the ultimate in comfort food for the Rabanastrans. They served it mostly roasted with thick, spoon consuming gravies that consisted mostly of fat and pan scrapings (a.k.a. brown crunchy bits). There were sweet glazes, sugary sauces, and thick stews with big shiny fat globules floating on the surface. There was always a large selection of cheeses prepared in a variety of ways to compliment the main dishes. With all those wonderful juices dipping, there was also plenty of bread served to sop it all up with.

Dessert was a diabetic hell, consisting of every conceivable type of cake, pastry, pudding, cookie, custard, and pie. Fruits, chocolate, and nuts were the standard ingredients and most vegetables, if you added enough butter and sugar. Where were the vegetables you ask? They were there in much smaller quantities and used as garnish. For Rabanastrans, nothing felt better than sitting down to an artery stopping, colon clogging feast.

Everyone got their giggles out and Balthier even accepted the fact that he was the butt of someone's joke. The problem was now that everyone was making a spirited attempt not to mention the cheerful bump, conversation became quite awkward. Thus, the topics of conversation tended to center on the food with a heavy serving of Fruedian Slip.

Despite their best efforts, words like 'bump', 'lumps' and 'chunks' sneaked unbidden into the conversation.

"Sorry about the gravy," Penelo said, just to make conversation, "The cook really likes those crunchy bits scrapped off the bottom of the pan, so it's a little lumpy." The comment was punctuated by a group wince and one cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. Basch looked at Balthier and casually asked, "Is your gravy lumpy too?" The pirate gave the man a long, appraising look, but there was no hint of mischief on his face. The knight was always so stoic, it was hard to tell when he was joking around.

Vaan let out a mental groan. It had gone on like this throughout dinner. It was rather hard to act casual and ignore the unintentional references to Balthier's happy head wound when the entire table cringed at the slightest allusion to it. He patted Penelo as she stammered an apology and felt very sorry for her.

"Well, I think I'm ready for dessert." Fran prompted, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

"I think I'm ready for a drink." Balthier muttered, rising from his seat.

"You wish to ruin another blouse, then?" the viera quipped.

The young pirate tossed his head and replied a mite peevishly, "That was through no fault of my own. And it's _not_ a blouse". Of his companions he inquired, "Rum, ale, wine? I'll bring it up myself."

Vaan frowned and thought, _Oh, sure. Now he doesn't need an apprentice. When it comes to alcohol, he gets it himself. _

"Wine please." Ashe and Larsa said.

"Penelo?" Balthier asked, scribbling the orders down on a napkin.

"Nothing for me, thanks."

Balthier ignored Vaan's wildly waving hand. He was practically bouncing in his seat.

"Basch?"

"An ale." The sky pirate pinched the bridge of his nose, then pen in hand glanced up at Vaan questioningly.

"I want a -!"

"Juice." Balthier said crisply.

"…!" Vaan stammered.

"You're under age." He said virtuously, "I'll not be party to the corruption of a minor."

"But Larsa and Ashe are minors too!" the boy wailed incredulously, waving an arm at the two."

"Ah, but royalty are practically raised on alcohol. It's a well known fact."

He turned to Fran, leaving Vaan to pick up the pieces of his injured pride. "Fran?"

"No, thank you." she replied, then said in an amused tone while tapping her forehead. "But maybe your friend would."

Balthier tossed his head with a snort, causing the lump to wobble. "He doesn't drink." he said mordantly.

"I can see he's the brains then." Fran replied playfully.

"Fran, please!" the man groaned, slewing around and swaggering off.

Following Balthier's return, a large tray of desserts was brought up by a yellow-skinned bangaa and was immediately followed with lots of pointed eye contact, during which everyone let everyone else know that the piece of cake next to the pie on the left of the parfait was theirs. It was a beautifully serene moment in which sugar sparkled, jellies glistened, and warm pies steamed. Then everyone lunged for their chosen dessert in a manner usually only seen in nature where large scavenger birds gather.

Vaan nursed his orange juice. Balthier had poured it into a wine glass under the light-hearted impression that it would give the juice a more alcoholic feel. This strategy is employed by parents to satisfy their children when they want something they just aren't ready for. Big Sister wears make-up and jewelry? No problem! Little Sister gets the Pretty Pretty Princess playset with plastic clip on earrings, huge diamond rings (which would be worth a fortune if they were real), and little trays of plastic eye shadow and lipstick in colors that not even a clown would wear. Vaan had just been given the equivalent of a 'Big Boy Cup'.

With a sour expression that had nothing to do with his drink, Vaan watched Larsa and Penelo over the rim of his 'Big Boy Cup'. Next to Balthier, the fledgling lord had gotten a piece of cake that was so good he felt compelled to offer Penelo a taste. There was nothing wrong with that, except that the bite being offered was on Larsa's fork, heading with flirting speed (according to the Overprotective Older Brother Standards) to Penelo's mouth. Vaan had nothing against sharing with Penelo, as long as he was the one doing the sharing. And Larsa was in violation of the OOBS Rule no. 27: All males of close age to adopted sister must remain no less than 10ft away from her at all times, unless being beaten by said sister, or by exception of being a eunuch , or the wrong species.

Baltheir watched the entire exchange with a grin. Vaan was still clearly upset about the younger boy stealing his seat. He caught Vaan's eye and mouthed, "Jealous, are we?" This earned him a dark look. The sky pirate smirked and leaned back in his seat, putting his hands behind his head.

Vaan frowned at his cake while thoughts of vengeance burned through his mind. One particular idea burned brighter than the others. It was perfect! With great care, and trying to maintain an air of gloomy innocence, Vaan stretched out a foot.

Fran covertly watched her companions eat. It was amazing how much sugar the hume body could tolerate. The viera was still working on her first parfait while the others had already consumed enough sweets to keep a child with HDD awake for weeks. Good gods! If anyone wanted to kill these people, all they had to do was poison their dessert, or wait for them to develop diabetes. It was a miracle they still had teeth.

As Fran pondered just how much sugar normal blood could absorb before turning into syrup, a foot was brushed down her shin in a highly suggestive manner. The viera's head came up so fast that she nearly snapped her own neck. Judging from the side of her leg the foot had touched, there was only one person who could have, and would have dared to play footsie with her. She stared at Balthier in shock, ears cocked at an indignant angle, then fixed him with an affronted glare. The pirate gave her one of his dazzling smiles.

"If you ever do that again, " Fran growled "you will be carrying your extra bits home in your pocket." Silence descended on the table as all ears turned to listen. Balthier gave her a puzzled look. What? He couldn't tease Vaan? When had that become illegal? The dashing pirate decided to apologize, just to be safe. "Come now, Fran, I was only having a little jest."

Fran made a thoughtful sound and pulled over a pie that was still untouched. A pirate doesn't stay a pirate for long unless he quickly develops finely honed survival skills. These skills vary from pirate to pirate, but are roughly categorized as the ability to detect the tiny little details in a situation that scream 'Beware! Personal Harm Ahead!', but all boil down to the pirate version of a 'Spidey sense'. If your partner just so happened to be female (and have dangerous looking footwear), then you quickly develop an 'Angry Woman Radar' to let you know when it was best to shut up and keep your head down.

Balthier's AWA must have been experiencing technical difficulties, because there wasn't so much as a 'blip' of warning. One minute he was contemplating just what he could have said to set Fran off, and the next he was letting out an undignified yelp as his chair went over backwards. Stunned, he looked up to see Fran kneeling over him. Normally, seeing a woman leaning over him would not be cause for gut clenching terror (unless the woman was a modern thinker and had certain views about married life), but the viera was wearing the most disconcertingly vicious grin. And she was holding a pie.

"Fran…Fran, what are you doing?!" Balthier exclaimed in panic, eyes riveted to the pie (which had it not been a figure of speech, would have been very painful and messy, considering the size of the average rivet). The viera grinned mercilessly as her partner attempted to crawl away on his shoulder blades.

"Come on, now…put the pie down!" the pirate quavered, head wound wobbling in terror. The viera levered her partner up by the collar of his vest. Voice rising in panic, Balthier nearly wailed, "Fran, no! That's blue…blueberry…it's _blueberry_! You know it stains something wicked!"

The rabbit-eared woman hefted the pie in the same manner that one would have used to heft something like, oh, say a hand bomb, and said, "Yes, but your happy little friend likes blueberry." She grinned as Balthier's eyes rolled up in the direction of the smiling knot on his forehead, which nodded treasonously. "See, he agrees." Fran said brightly. She ignored Balthier's beseeching gaze and smashed the pie in is face.

The non-participating party members half rose in silence, craning their necks to get a better look as the theatrical pirate staggered to his feet frantically wiping his face. To Fran's disappointment, Balthier's shirt and vest had escaped without so much as a smudge. There are lots of cosmic laws governing the functioning of the world, and one of them concerns Irony, which, ironically, has nothing to do with metal, or pressing your clothes. Everyone has watched a friend narrowly miss the soccer ball screaming straight for his head, stare in amazement and admiration, and then laugh their butts off when he turns around and slips in the ginormous steaming dog turd. And then class starts.

The situations may be different, but it happens all the time, and is quite humorous, as long as it doesn't happen to you.

Holding to the Laws, Balthier's shirt and vest may have dodged the cosmic bullet, but his face had not. There was an explosion of snort, which were quickly followed by guffaws and whoops as the man turned around to reveal that his face was stained purple. Wickedly.

Irritation etched in to every line, Balthier frowned severely at Fran.

"That was uncalled for, Fran, don't you think?"

The viera didn't even look at him as she seated herself and sipped her tea before replying curtly "So was your little game of footsie."

"What?! Really, I have no idea what you are on about!" Balthier sputtered, aghast. "I would never be so ungentlemanly as to-!"

Footsie. Larsa had heard of this game, but so far failed to find someone willing to explain it to him. All past attempts at inquiries had been met with embarrassed squirming and an immediate change of subject. Wondering if perhaps it was because no one actually knew what it was, young Larsa had once asked an old Archadian priest. The poor man had been so distraught, that he had to be led away by his fellows and given a mild sedative, leaving Larsa's question unanswered. He was beginning to suspect that no one _wanted _to tell him.

The lordling politely tugged on Basch's arm. The new Gabranth paused in his laughter and glanced down into the young lord's troubled visage.

"Yes, my lord?"

"Basch, what's 'Footsie'?"

Beside Basch, Ashe ejected her wine in a high-pressure spray that might have peeled the paint off of the Notice Board, had she been close enough(as it was, Vaan lost a little skin off his scalp, but he was young and it would grow back). There was just something shocking about any young child asking about 'adult' things like Dirty Laundry, where babies come from, and what an underwire is for. This is usually because they tend to ask about them in public places, or in front of important company. Very few adults know how to handle such questions, thinking that the child needs a politically correct and detailed explanation so as not to lie to the child. This is a common misconception. Most parents learn that answers a child can easily understand are often the best until they reach an age where they can mentally handle a more thorough explanation. Thus, these complicated questions can truthfully and satisfactorily be answered as: 'What needs washing', 'from the Big Guy Upstairs', and 'a wire that goes under things to hold them up'.

Ashe's eyeballs turned slowly in their sockets in a fashion reminiscent of the Kit Cat Clock(if you don't know what this is, it was a hugely popular clock from around the 1930's, and was in the shape of a black grinning cat "with rolling eyes and wagging tail". It's tail acted as the pendulum, and was connected to a pair of evil looking eyes that would swivel back and forth in time with the tail. It was supposed to be one of those cute novelty items developed during the economic depression to bring a little joy into life. To a four year old, they were hellishly creepy, and inspired nothing but screaming nightmares).

She watched in amazement as Basch showed no sign of distress other than a clearing of the throat. The man gave the boy a thoughtful look and replied with all seriousness, "'Tis like a bootie, my lord."

"Finally, " Larsa chirped, happy that he'd found someone who knew what it was.

Basch waited, knowing what was coming next. "And how is it played?" the little inquired, determined to learn everything he could about 'footsie' while he had the chance. The Judge took a sip of his ale to by some time, then calmly replied, "With two of them."

Larsa digested this. He was about to ask a related question that most likely would have left everyone needing a lie down. But Basch was ready, and neatly distracted the boy by appealing to his chivalrous upbringing. "Look, I think Penelo needs a handkerchief." he said, pointing to the blond girl, who had dropped some custard on her shirt. As Larsa offered the girl his napkin, Ashe caught Basch's eye and gave him a thumbs-up and a nod of acknowledgement for his epic achievement.

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If you didn't get the joke concerning the royal chef's name, here's a hint : say the name out loud to yourself, slowly. If anyone is brave enought to want to know more about the Kit Cat clock, google the key words, but you've been warned... Oh, and someone get Larsa some booties.


	4. Chapter 4

The final chapter of the FFXII version of Random Bits. I enjoyed writing this fic so much, that I have decided to divide my time between writing for both games. I did not check this chapter for errors, just in case you find more than usual. Contact me if there are any really horrible ones. I hope you enjoy the final chapter of the pilot for FF12 Random Bits 00!**

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****FF12: Random Bits 00**

**Chapter 4**

**:Setting** - Vaan, Penelo, Fran, and Balthier, struck with a bad case of loneliness, have decided to have a reunion (not the kind where anyone is infected with cells and the whole city is attacked by Remnants, just a plain old reunion of friends). They have invited their companions and are seeing to the preparations.**:**

**:Location** - Rabanastre - the Sandsea - An uncomfortable explanation of 'footsie' has been avoided and Vaan is gloating over his prank. Everyone has a little too much sugar in their systems and like alcohol, it tends to bring out the unexpected…not to mention the ugly.**:**

Fran and Balthier stopped their bickering and stared at each other in silence, then slowly turned to look at Vaan. The blond teen was rocked back in his chair, watching the whole exchange with an impish grin and exuding smugness.

"_You!_" the senior pirates growled in unison, the word sizzling with loathing. The grin crouching so comfortably on Vaan's lips suddenly dropped off like the last bit of popsicle off the stick and his eyes bulged. He sat rigid in terror, showing no signs of moving, so it was up to his subconscious to kick a few glands into sending a rush of adrenaline to his muscles and propel the boy out of his seat in a thrashing of limbs.

Once out of the chair and speeding away from his irate companions, Vaan did what most people do in this situation…he stopped and looked back to see if he was being chased. Maybe it is instinct or just human curiosity that compels someone being pursued to pause and see if the danger is still back there, but what ever it is, its stupid. A professional survivor never stops or risks a backwards glance because 1) obstructions like walls, roots, poles, cliffs, and pits tend to suddenly spring out in front of you, and 2) if it is scary enough to run away from why would you want to keep looking at it? If you look at something scary long enough you become desensitized to, so it would make much more sense to let the imagination fill in all the horrifying details and make it much worse, thus giving you all the more reason to run faster. That way you can run on the wings of terror, avoid obstacles, and stand a chance of escaping.

Vaan came to a full stop, turned to look and was collared into a headlock by Balthier. Struggling all the while, the young orphan was dragged back to the table where his companion pulled over a multilayered pudding with the satisfied sigh of, "Ah! This will do nicely." The boy took a moment to gnaw desperately on the man's arm as he turned to his viera partner and holding out an arm said,

"Fran, would you be so kind?"

Fran looked down at the proffered appendage for a moment, then rolled the sleeve up. Baltheir nodded his thanks and, after dipping a generous handful out of the bowl, ground the pudding into Vaan's scalp.

"Alright, that's enough. Leave him alone." Penelo demanded as the sky pirate reached the bottom of the bowl and graciously allowed Fran to choose the next dessert.

Balthier ignored the girl, his AWR still on the fritz, and remembered too late that while a sweet girl, Penelo could be a real harpy when roused, especially when it came to Vaan. Still it was quite a shock when she snatched up a whole cherry cobbler and hurled it at Balthier. There was a long hissing sound and the near implosion of the Sandsea as everyone breathed in and retained breath at once. All eyes watched as the cobbler arched gracefully through the air with quite a bit of force because Penelo did not throw like a girl and exploded on impact. Balthier screamed like he'd been shot, face twisting in agony as the cobbler laminated itself across his vest in an explosion of cherries and syrup.

At the table Ashe couldn't help but giggle as the pirate sagged dramatically against another table, clutching his chest as if wounded. Temptation niggled away at Courtly Manners as Mischief informed her that there were still plenty of desserts left on the table. She was silently admonishing herself when a custard pie slid daintily in front of her plate. She glanced at Larsa in surprise as the boy treated her to a lopsided grin and he said, "We might as well."

"It's quite delicious." Fran teased her partner, picking bits of cobbler off of her companion. Balthier rolled a reproachful eye at her then, scraping a handful of cherries off his shirt, wiped it down her face and opened his mouth to spew what was sure to be a sarcastic comment… Fran stared at him, one ear drooping in irritation. Without warning, she snatched a cupcake from the table and crammed it into his opened mouth. After a brief gurgle of surprise from Balthier, they both glared silently at each other.

From their companions' point of view, it looked like an anti-wedding reception. Only instead of playfully feeding each other bits of cake and gazing lovingly at one another, the new couple try to asphyxiate each other with huge chunks of cake while glaring at each other with open contempt. "And that's your last clean blouse." the viera snarled with malevolent cheer, watching the pirate bristle with indignation.

"It's not a bl-!" Balthier snapped vehemently before a custard pie splattered through his hair.

Laughing like mad, Larsa and Ashe attacked, hurling desserts indiscriminately. A full scale food fight soon erupted. Two tables were overturned and an invisible line was drawn. It was Pirates against Royalty and One Commoner. Occasionally one of the table barricades would roll over to Dessert HQ to reload, then roll away again.

Basch sat through it all, methodically working his way through the remains of an apple pie, occasionally dodging the globs, dollops, clumps, or slices that came his way due to bad aim or over enthusiasm. Some of the pieces had bites taken out of them because a food fight made for hungry work. A hand attempted to take his pie, but Basch fended it off with a few stabs from his fork and a grunt of, "Your pardon, Princess." the Judge moved his plate out of reach as the Pirate trio's barricade rolled up for more ammo. Basch knew it was the Pirates because the Royalty and One Commoner's table didn't have a pair of bunny ears sticking up over the top.

Ashe hurled a jelly, grenade style, and was rewarded with a dismayed yelp. Now on the offensive Ashe and her team rose and peppered the opposition with an assortment of sugary tarts, the large sugar crystals on which could be quite dangerous if gotten in the eyes. Things were going well, until they were suddenly plunged into darkness.

"Hey! No fair! You can't use magic!" Penelo complained, Blinded.

"And that's very ungentlemanly of you." Larsa added.

"We're pirates, we don't play fair and we aren't gentleman." Vaan called back haughtily.

"Speak for yourself." Balthier chided, "I'm always a gentleman."

"You're not a pirate!" Penelo retorted, "You're just a wannabe!"

"Oh yeah? Take that!" Vaan snapped, hurling handfuls of what had once been individual species of desserts, but had over the course of time evolved into a nondescript amalgamation of multicolored mush.

Under the cover of the girlish screams, because all girls scream like girls and Larsa hadn't hit puberty yet, Fran, Balthier and Vaan carried out phase two of their plan. Ashe, Penelo, and Larsa crawled around blindly behind their barricade, expecting a hail of food at any moment. Inches away from each other, they groped around wildly at first, then more hesitantly as questing fingers found their way to areas best left unexplored.

There is a unique response hardwired directly to the hindbrain that deals with sudden blindness. This response is to stumble around wildly, waving the arms and loudly shouting 'I can't see! I can't see!' Group blindness triggers something similar to the Lemming Effect in which the victim spurs the whole group into rushing around madly, despite any danger, amidst cries of 'I'm blind!', 'Where are you?', 'Over here!', and 'Over where?' The cries are usually followed by either very long of very brief screams, depending on what obstacles or enemies are in proximity.

Luckily Larsa found his Eyedrops and when their vision was restored, the Royalty and One Commoner launched an all out attack on the Pirates. The trio rushed the enemy barricade, screaming battle cries and hurling food while Ashe hung back to provide cover fire. Too late did they realize that the viera ears they were attacking were just a decoy. The ears were really a pair of cleverly folded napkins tied to an arrow stuck in the underside of the table. Realism had been added by dipping the tips of the 'ears' in chocolate syrup. The decoy left the two teens baffled just long enough for Vaan to leap out of his hiding place and captured Ashe.

It happened to fast that the usual post-capture scream of surprise found itself out on its metaphorical ear (it eventually found other work as a Scream of Rage, Squeal of Glee, Shriek of Maniacal Laughter, and very briefly, a Death Rattle). Ashe suddenly found herself being held in what was known as a Desperation Hold. It is similar to a Submission Hold, but has no set technique or form. It is literally any way you can hold on to someone that will keep them from escaping or hitting, kicking, stabbing, or robbing you. It was a great skill and worked surprisingly well. Many a thief suddenly found himself pinned down with their own leg wrapped around their neck while the granny they had been attempting to rob screamed for help at the top of her lungs.

Had this Desperation Hold had a name, it would have been something like 'straight jacket'. Ashe's arms had been pulled in opposite directions across the front of her body, which was leaning forward and balanced precariously on one leg, the other of which was being held slightly off the ground by one of Vaan's feet. Balanced as she was, Ashe vaguely resembled the classic 'winged woman' hood ornament.

Larsa and Penelo, realizing that they had been had, spun around to see that Ashe was now in enemy hands. Balthier was holding a dangerous looking muffin next to her face in a threatening way. The sugar crystals looked exceptionally large and particularly sharp.

"It seems we have the upper hand. I should give up, if I were you." the blueberry stained pirate said in classic gloating villain style. Behind him, Fran rolled her eyes. It was so cliché, all that was missing was the full-voice hearty laugh.

"Never!" Larsa shouted gallantly, then attacked the purple faced pirate. Taken slightly aback, Balthier dropped the muffin and back pedaled. They sky pirate kept the flailing boy at arm's length by the simple maneuver of a hand on his forehead.

The two danced around for a few moments until One Commoner hit Balthier at knee height, taking him down. Fran ignored his cries for help. He deserved a little punishment for that cliché line earlier. Besides, she needed a drink. Food fights were thirsty work. The Viera excused herself and descended the stairs to get a drink. The last she saw of Balthier, he had somehow risen and was stumbling around with Larsa hanging from his neck and Penelo holding tight to his leg.

"I need a little help over here!" Vaan grunted to the pirate as Ashe began struggling wildly. "Well, I'm in a bit of a bind myself over here." Balthier replied a mite chagrined, trying to shake Larsa off his neck. "I'm sure you can-No biting!" he suddenly squealed as Penelo got a little over enthusiastic.

"But I'm losing my-!" Vaan began, only to be suddenly knocked over backwards as the princess threw herself into him. They went down in a tangle of limbs. The pirate-in-training and the soon-to-be-Queen wrestled on the floor as one tried to escape and the other tried to hold on.

The Sandsea's door was suddenly flung open and handful of palace guards clattered heroically in. Had the background music not been turned up for the party, Ashe and company might have heard the fanfare of the Rescue Party. The guards glanced curiously at the viera having a drink at the bar then charged up the stair to the loft. They clattered to a halt as they crested the stairs and milled in uncertainty, trying to make sense of the odd scene before them. They postured and brandished their weapons for something to do. Before them was princess Ashellia valiantly struggling against a young man, the Archadian prince giving a richly dressed man what for, a young woman that they had often seen dancing in the Bazaar clinging to the same man's leg, and what looked like a Judge Magister enjoying a pie. And there was food everywhere.

The guards jumped to the obvious conlcusion.

"That man is assaulting the princess!" one shouted, pointing a finger that vibrated with almighty incredulity.

"And that one is attacking Lord Larsa Solidor!" a second guard shouted. They royal guards paused and watched the lordling maneuver Balthier into a headlock. This was quite a feat, considering that the boy was a good deal lighter and several heads shorter than the sky pirate. There was also the fact that the boy's feet weren't even touching the ground as he dangled from the man's back.

One of the guards took in Balthier's blueberry stained face and called encouragingly, "That's the way milord! He isn't half purple!"

"Oi!" another guard suddenly gasped, "He's kidnapping the princess!" Vaan, who had wrestled Ashe off the floor and was carrying her struggling body towards a promising looking fruit salad, froze.

"Get your filthy hands off Lady Ashe." the captain growled, "No one can touch the princess!" Vaan didn't hesitate. He yanked his hands back, leaving Ashe to fall to the food smeared floor with a thump.

"How dare you!" the captain snapped. Vaan immediately bent to help her up.

"Don't touch her!" spat another guard, encouraged by his captain's outburst. Vaan spent several confused minutes in which the guards alternately shouted at him for not helping Ashe up and for daring to touch her in order to help her up. Finally Ashe had enough.

"Everybody shut up!

There was instant silence in which drawn weapons waved in embarrassment. Grumbling to herself, Ashe got to her feet and smoothed out her clothes. After a moment one of the guards hesitantly raised a hand. "Majesty? Should we arrest the lot of them now and give them a good thrashing?"

"No!" Ashe snapped in exasperation.

"A public flogging? Those are always popular with the townspeople."

"No."

"A light beating, then?" the guard ventured hopefully.

"No!" Ashe replied sternly. "And no manhandling, arm twisting, ear boxing, or anything that involves the use of boiling oil, tar, or red hot pokers." she said in response to the several hands that were cautiously raised.

"What I would like you to do," Ashe began, "Is to get-!"

An arm was thrown around her and a small object was held close to the crown princess's face in a less than friendly manner.

"Right then," Balthier's said conversationally, "It seems we have the upper hand." He ignored the amused snort from Fran. "If you gentlemen would lower your arms, and do as I say, we'll all get along famously."

"Watch it men, he's holding a lemon wedge!" the captain of the palace guard cautioned, gesturing wildly for his men to lower their swords. "The juice stings like the devil if you get it in your eyes!"

"Now, we'll just be going down the stairs now and off to skies unexplored," Balthier said cheerfully, "And you poor overworked, underpaid gentlemen will kindly give us wide berth…that's berth with an 'e'." he snapped as Vaan opened his mouth. The party bunched together behind Balthier, the guards grimacing and posturing impotently. They occasionally feigned a thrust with a sword or spear.

Having finished his pie, Basch leisurely rose from his seat and cast a curious glance at his companions. The opposing groups were frozen in their current positions glaring at each other suspiciously. If he left it up to them, they would be here all day. Basch made a show of grasping his helmet and putting it on in a manner that clearly said 'I mean business, yo.' Now wearing the elaborate helmet, which gave him a much more threatening presence, Basch became the center of the guards' attention.

"Step aside." he said, his voice echoing from the cold, shadowy depths of his helm like the last bell toll at a funeral. Metal clanked and rattled as the armored men scuttled away from the foot of the stairs. It was either that, or be mowed down as the Judge swept down the steps ahead of Larsa. The Pirates, Royalty, and One Commoner followed closely as Larsa's bodyguard strode confidently past the guards as if they were nothing more than a few more bits of furniture on the way to the door.

There was a tense moment of shuffling and sidling as the two groups orbited around Basch. After several revolution, Ashe and her companions ended up nearest the the companions moved outside the door, Balthier paused just inside for a little theatrics, because if you were going to make an exit, it might as well be done with flare. Knowing he was going to make one of his grand parting remarks, the Fran grabbed the back of his vest and pulled. Several of the guards shifted, embarrassed for the young man as he clawed ineffectively at the door frame before disappearing through it, his grand parting speech unmade.

As the door swung closed, the captain turned and, setting his jaw in grim determination, nodded to his men.

"All right lads, after them!" he commanded smartly. The previously off-balance guards snapped to attention and marched purposefully forward. They didn't get far.

One of the doors swung open again and Ashe appeared in the doorway. She stopped them with a scowl. "I command you not to follow me."

The guards sagged, crestfallen. "But princess," the captain pleaded, "We must give chase." There was a chorus of agreeing mutters.

"I'm giving you a direct order." Ashe countered coldly. "But it's in the Rules, Majesty." a second guard nearly whined, his fellows twisting with unease. "It'll be three days in the stocks with no coffee, and up before the Council for a flogging if we let you go." he continued, hopping from foot to foot in nervousness.

Ashe contemplated this for a moment. She wasn't an unreasonable princess after all. "Very well then, but," she conceded, holding up a finger as her loyal guards shuffled excitedly, "You must give us to the count of twenty and pursue at a leisurely pace to give us enough time to escape."

"Agreed." the captain said with a bow. "You heard the Lady. Someone start counting."

Several minutes later the guards were having a leisurely jog through the city, making a show of shoving slower moving pedestrians out of the way, as they headed towards the palace.

"Look, sir!" a guard said, drawing his captain's attention to the ship hovering over the royal palace. As they watched, a tiny figure could be seen climbing onto one of the balconies and waving as the ship departed. The captain turned back to his men and motioned them closer.

"Right. Okay men," he said, "We're going to take a quick run 'round the city and be sufficiently out of breath by the time we reach the palace. Then we're all going to spend the next few days complimenting the Lady Ashe on her royal survival skills. We're all going to say what an outstanding princess she is, that she can bully her kidnappers in to letting her go and even giving her a ride back to the palace. And then we're all going to keep our heads down and be the most attentive and alert palace guards in Ivalice."

End.

* * *

Let's hear it for the overworked and underpaid palace guards. Incidentally they are hiring and offer a life of exciting city chases, three square meals, free room and board, self defense training, free uniforms (complete with your choice of horned or pointy helmet), and superior officers with a unique sense of humor.


End file.
